Roads
The roads and trods heading South were busy. Old friends, vague acquaintances and complete strangers, all rushing here and there. The Winterfolk were on the move again, a leather-and-mail flood heading towards the sun. A contrast to the previous season, where Wintermark’s captains had marched North onto the ice, bundled in wool and furs with a determined stride and the Knights of Summer beside them. Now they shuffle South in linens and cottons to aid allies where they might try and help claw a victory for the Empire somewhere, if not in their own lands. Even the most even-tempered amongst the Winterfolk could be forgiven for feeling a pang of frustration. The mutters of “I still think we’re going the wrong way” could be heard if you listened out for them, but lessened some as the rhythm of the road settled in. Loyalty, and no small amount of professional Pride in getting a job done properly, does wonders to cast out doubts and focus the mind. That was Kindra’s theory, anyway. Some had stayed to guard the towns and villages, vigilant against raiding from Jotun and Feni, and the spectre of the Thule still haunting their halls, regardless of any peace treaties. The old joke is, of course, that it’s only paranoia if you’re wrong. Wisdom and Vigilance were as strong in the Winterfolk as Courage and Pride. She hoped they were wrong, and nothing would come to threaten home and hearth while she was away. But hope is no substitute for preparation, and only time would reveal the correct course. As she walked and thought of home, she touched the runes around her neck and knife at her hip, and smiled without thinking. The crowds began to thin as the Empire appeared below the hills of Hahnmark. The trods and road networks opened up and crossed here and there, and seasoned travellers took to their favourite routes. Some preferred to travel through Kallavesa and into the Marches by Meade or King’s Stoke, some took the route via Temeschwar into Astolat, and some took the old trods to Seren, from which you could go almost anywhere. Kindra exchanged temporary goodbyes and nods with friends and strangers as they branched off and went their own way. She and her fellows were going as far as Seren for now, and stopping for a night or two to enjoy some Navarri-style hospitality before heading onwards. Her people scattered as soon as they entered the city, off to their own favourite places to eat and drink and sing. They were all becoming very familiar with the old city at the heart of the trods as they walked here and there and here and there and back again. Serving the Empire is it’s own reward, but the amount of money she was spending on boot repairs had exploded since she chose to - literally - walk this path, but at least the Navarri cobblers got a slice of Prosperity out of it. The evening found her hunched, frowning, over a map in her favourite bar, beer in one hand, lightstone in the other. There was no way around it. To get to where she needed to be, she’d have to go down that road. AGAIN. She’d not been back since walking that way with her brother, as he tried to fight her gloomy spirits with songs and laughter as they went. Not for the first time, she cursed her lack of musical aptitude, and wished she’d learned his songs. In six months many had faded from her mind, and though others still sung them, they weren’t the same without his voice. The only thing that had truly stuck was the way he’d said the word “Ambition”. She smiled fondly at the memory. Bloody stormcrows, with their attitude and feathers and virtues, always sticking their beaks in places... “Ambition it is, then”, she said aloud, looking up from the map. Her eyes caught a familiar silver glint on a face across the room, and her smile widened as she waved. As the Cambion approached, Kindra’s hand went to her runes again. Gralm and Ull. Chance and Destiny. The Crossroads and The Road.